


Lionheart

by ryuutora



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone probably cries a little bit, Forgive Me, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, I've been focusing a lot of energy on TFFMO, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Major Character Injury, Okay look I know this is very late, Post-Season/Series 04, Team as Family, Trust Issues, keith cries, lance cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuutora/pseuds/ryuutora
Summary: If Lotor had shown up just a few seconds later...---In which Keith is hurt, Coran's medical knowledge is a blessing, and Lance learns a little more about Keith's past than he can handle, emotionally. Butsomeoneneeds to let Keith know he's loved.





	Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm yeah I wrote this in October and then got really caught up in finishing the next chapter of TFFMO and forgot to finish THIS, so I just typed up the last couple pages this morning to get it out of the way before March. You may complain at me if it seems rushed or not proofread, because it is both of those things and if it's obvious I'd like to know so I can fix it.

* * *

 

 

In the grand scheme of things, Keith Kogane doesn’t matter anymore.

He’s no longer a necessary piece in this game -- this war -- the way the paladins of Voltron are. And, yes, he _was_ one of those essential players not so long ago, but today…

Today he is more expendable than he’s ever thought himself in his life (and he’s been there, many times before this fight). Today, he’s assured that Voltron is led by someone far more capable than himself, far better suited to a leadership position. 

He’s assured that the universe will be no worse off for the loss of a single life. Not the way it would be for the loss of Voltron and its paladins.

Not the way it would be for the loss of his friends, the only people he’s ever truly considered family.

And he’s positive that if he doesn’t act fast, he _will_ lose them.

The choice is obvious. If he doesn’t fix this -- if he doesn’t do something to keep them safe -- then what will he be left with? Nothing but himself.

Again.

One small sacrifice can keep Voltron safe, keep the universe safe, and keep his family safe. If he dies, they still have each other. It won’t matter. His loss won’t matter.

They’ve managed without him this long. No one cared enough to stop him from leaving in the first place.

Maybe things would be different if he could put the cruiser on autopilot. He wouldn’t have to think this through so carefully. Someone needs to be in the pilot’s seat, and if it’s going to be anyone, it might as well be Keith.

All it takes is a reminder that he doesn’t matter (he’s replaceable, he’s not needed to save the universe, the mission is bigger than the individual) and he dives for the barrier that’s putting his friends in so much danger, resigned to his fate, as he should have been all along.

Matt is screaming at him somewhere.

Matt wouldn’t quite understand the position he’s in.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, opens them again and--

The barrier is crumbling, fading away a few dozen metres above him, but it’s too late anyway.

The cruiser slams into a half-distorted edge, barely seconds from what would have been safety, and explodes in a cacophony of heat and _agony_.

Keith screams, somehow, and as the unbearable pain of being torn apart rips his consciousness away from him, all he can think about is how pointless even his death will be.

 

*

 

“ _Fuck_!” Matt screams, ignoring the Galra ship that’s suddenly appeared in favour of pushing his own craft to its limits as he tries desperately to get to Keith. If he’d only moved just a bit faster, tried a bit harder to talk him down…

That crazy Lotor guy is here, apparently, but he honestly couldn’t care less right now.

He stops at the edge of the cloud of debris that’s still spinning off in every direction and seals his helmet, barely remembering to hook himself to the safety rope as he leaps out into open space and begins searching frantically for Keith, not minding that the debris he shoves out of the way digs into his hands and nearly punctures his suit.

“Keith!” he cries, narrowly avoiding taking a chunk of twisted metal to the head.

He better be _fucking alive_. Pidge would be devastated if he isn’t. Matt knows she isn’t one to get along with people (“People are difficult,” she says. “Machines are easier.”) but _these_ people, this family she’s helped build under unusual circumstances, she _loves_ them.

He’s never heard her speak so highly of anyone in his life. Keith is so _important_ to her, Matt can tell. He’s so important to _all of them_ , so much so that even if it devastated them to let him go off on his own, they did it because they knew it would make him happy.

And that was all they wanted, was for him to feel content with himself, and with his contributions to the war effort; if joining the Blade of Marmora was what it took, then they weren’t about to stand in his way.

They wouldn’t have wanted _this._

Keith isn’t moving when Matt finally stumbles across him, just drifting among shards of wrecked Galra cruiser, cold and silent.

The cloud of blood around him makes for a macabre sight, spreading lazily outward in the wake of broken glass and burnt metal. Matt chokes on a sob.

“Matt!” Shiro’s voice cuts through the quiet, startling him as he wraps his arms around Keith’s limp frame. “We’re in the clear, are you okay?”

“I-I’m--”

“Where’s Keith?” Lance butts in. “What was that noise? He isn’t answering his comm!”

“We’re going to intercept Lotor,” Shiro announces. “We’ll deal with everything else later.”

Matt shakes his head, though he knows no one can see it, and he does his damnedest to rush Keith back to his ship, because he isn’t breathing and there’s _nothing he can do_ out here. “No, Shiro, he -- Keith … we need help. _Now._ ” He doesn’t know Keith, not really, not the way he’s gotten to know the other members of Team Voltron, but he feels the same connection and can’t help the tears that roll down his face.

Coran’s sombre voice cuts through before anyone else’s. “Shall I prepare a sleep chamber?”

“Ye-- no … I don’t know, Coran, I don’t think he’s…” Matt tumbles through the airlock of his own ship and immediately removes his helmet and Keith’s mask, planting an ear against his chest to listen. It takes a few seconds, but he _can_ hear his heart beating -- and hear it fading. Fast. “Yes!” he yells at his discarded helmet. “Prep a chamber! Guys, I’m gonna need help getting my ship to the castle. I have to keep his heart beating.”

Faintly, he can hear Lance cry, “Oh my god, what happened?” and Pidge saying, “He  _better_ be okay; I’ll be so mad.” (But even through the helmet, Matt can hear the fear in her voice, the stickiness of impending tears).

He tilts Keith’s head back and breathes air into his lungs, places both hands over his chest and _forces_ his heart to keep pumping. They are  _not_ losing him today.

Within seconds, the entire ship rumbles as something massive settles above it, then jolts when one of the Lions starts dragging it through space, moving impossibly fast.

“I got you,” Lance’s choked voice whispers through the comm system. “It’s okay. Please don’t let him die, Matt, _please_.”

“I’m trying,” is all Matt can offer, but even as he says it Keith’s body isn’t cooperating with him, and the pool of blood is soaking into his knees, and honestly -- maybe it would be more kind to just let him go. These are not the type of injuries one is meant to survive. Not the burns up the left side of his body, or the metal strip lodged in his abdomen, or any of the hundreds of smaller cuts, splinters, bruises, and burns covering his whole body.

If anything, Matt might be making it worse.

He pulls off his cape and tucks it under Keith to stem the flow of blood from a gash across his back, then resumes his ministrations, keeping his lungs working and his heart beating, and doesn't stop even when the ship makes impact with what he can only guess is the floor of the hangar, nor when the doors open and light floods in.

Lance doesn’t look nearly strong enough to carry a person of almost equal size, but he doesn’t hesitate to lift Keith into his arms and _run_ , fuelled by fear and adrenaline. Matt follows without hesitation. Lance is crying, barely held together by his determination to get Keith to the med bay, and when Coran appears to take Keith and his teammates converge on him, he simply collapses to the floor and sobs, dark blood dripping steadily to the floor from his armour.

Matt gathers him into a hug, because he’s _shaking_ and he looks so fragile in that moment, there isn’t much else to be done. “It’s okay,” he murmurs as Pidge latches onto him. “You said yourself he’s the toughest fucker in the universe, right?”

For a moment, Lance doesn’t respond, but as Hunk drapes himself across Lance’s shoulder he nods and sniffles, clearly trying to regain control of his emotions.

“I need help,” Coran announces, appearing at the entrance to the med bay, and Allura and Shiro hurry into the room. 

Matt regards the group before him -- _kids_ , still, only barely on the cusp of adulthood -- and knows that even for all they’ve seen, keeping a family member alive like this is too much. “Stay here,” he says, with all the authority he’s capable of channeling.

He joins the others in the med bay as Coran is intubating Keith. “--until everything is removed, or it won’t function correctly,” Coran is saying, as Allura uses a small blade to cut away the remnants of the Marmora suit. 

“Coran,” Shiro says in a strained voice, “he’s going to bleed out if we don’t get him in that pod _now._ ”

Coran shoves a pair of what appears to be tweezers into Shiro’s hand, not making eye contact as he stretches a holoscreen to hover over the length of Keith’s body. “Leave the larger pieces. If you remove them now, it may make the bleeding worse.”

As Matt watches silently from the doorway, the holoscreen produces an image of every injury on Keith’s body, and he sucks in a breath as he hurries forward. 

“Allura. Re-set what you can,” Coran says, gesturing to the displayed images of several dozen broken, fractured, and shattered bones. “Shiro, get to work with those. Matthew, towels. We don’t need to be slipping in blood, now.”

Matt nods and throws open the nearest cabinet, finding several shelves of clean, fluffy white towels, and hauls an armful over to the table they’ve laid Keith on, tucking them around his frame where blood has already begun to run toward the edges of the table. 

Altean medical equipment, for the most part, isn’t much different from that of humans. Of course, Earth doesn’t have magical healing chambers that can also preserve someone in cryo-sleep for thousands of years, but the needles and scalpels and tweezers bit -- the basics -- those all seem to be the same.

And Matthew Holt isn’t very fond of needles, if he’s being honest. So when Coran produces a ridiculously large needle (to Matt’s immediately terrified brain, at least), he cringes and takes a step back. When Coran shoves the whole IV line into his hands and tells him to hold it for a moment, he about damn faints.

But then Allura is rolling Keith onto his side and pouring some kind of blue-ish powder over the wound on his back, where most of the blood is coming from and Matt can see his fucking _ribs_ , and Coran is saying something about _more_ blood just as the seemingly endless flow of blood from the gash slows significantly.

_Blood_. Right. They need to keep Keith living long enough to fix him up to a point the pod deems acceptable, and with the amount of blood he’s lost he should be dead already.

They need _more_.

“What’s his blood type?” Matt asks. _What if no one on the ship matches?_

“I ... I don't--” Shiro starts, and Matt runs back into the hall, still holding a couple red-soaked towels.

“Blood,” he says, skidding to a stop in front of the three dazed teens on the floor and holding out the needle for them to see. “We need a blood match. He’s lost too much.”

“I’m universal,” Lance says, standing from where Hunk was just holding him carefully on his lap. “Let me.”

Matt doesn’t think twice -- Lance has  _seen_ already, anyway -- just grabs his hand and drags him back inside with him.

Coran is working a translucent, pale pink salve into the blackened parts of Keith’s arm and shoulder, but as Matt drags a chair up to the head of the table and tells Lance to sit, he wipes his hands on a towel and crouches in front of him. 

“Have you done this before?” he asks Matt, and Matt shakes his head, feeling ill. Coran nods and shows him how to hook up and change the small bags. Lance quickly sheds his outer armour and peels off the top half of his flight suit; Coran slips the needle into Lance’s arm and disappears again.

Matt tries not to look at the metal piercing Lance’s skin, instead focusing on his abnormally pale face as he waits for the bag to fill. 

“It won’t be quite enough,” Coran sighs behind them, throwing several soiled towels aside and replacing them before he gets to work removing the large chunk of debris from Keith’s lower stomach, stemming the flow of blood with more towels and that blue powder. “But it should keep him going long enough for us to finish up here.”

“Take however much he needs,” Lance says weakly, nodding at the several empty bags that Matt hasn’t touched, still hanging in a cabinet. “Just put me in a pod after.” He leans over, against the table where Keith’s head rests, and sighs tremulously. 

“What happened?” Allura asks, unfolding one of the white suits for the pod and draping it over the back of Lance’s chair. “If Lotor did this, I’ll send the rest of the Lions out there now to--”

“No!” Matt says, switching out the full blood bag for a fresh one. “He was-- Lotor would’ve saved him if he’d been a few seconds earlier, really.” He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his sticky hair. “Keith was going to crash his ship into the barrier to break through it. Lotor showed up right before he hit, but he’d already made impact just before the barrier disappeared.” 

He doesn’t mention his suspicion that if Keith had hit the full barrier head-on, there wouldn’t be anything left to operate on right now.

Beside him, the holoscreen flashes red and emits a singular, drawn-out screech. 

All eyes turn to stare at it in alarm, but Coran helpfully supplies “collapsed lung” before anyone can ask; he has a scalpel and a length of thick, clear tubing in his hands almost immediately, piercing a hole between two of his ribs and feeding the tube through it. A pink-ish foam begins to drain through it within seconds, and Coran slips a bucket beneath it and continues on like it’s nothing. The beeping fades out.

Matt can’t tell if Lance’s increasing pallor is due to blood loss or shock, but he brushes his fingers over the back of his hand and smiles reassuringly anyway.

“Why?” Lance whispers, cheek resting against the top of Keith’s head as he stares off into space.

Matt knows what he means. He has a pretty good idea of what must have been going through Keith’s head in that moment. “For you,” he says quietly, like they’re the only people who are meant to hear this conversation. “He did it to protect you guys.”

Despite the fact that his hands are otherwise occupied, Matt leans in to give Lance an awkward half-hug when he starts crying again.

Four bags seems like plenty. He passes one off to Coran and is just helping Lance onto unsteady feet when the screen flashes again, this time more insistent, and Matt watches the colour drain from Coran’s face in the blinking red light.

“Quiznak!” he cries, looking beyond frustrated and too grim for Matt’s liking. “His heart…”

Matt drops Lance back onto the chair with a murmured apology and _vaults_ onto the table, planting his hands firmly against Keith’s chest and pressing them down in a careful rhythm. They are _not_ losing this boy today. Not if he has anything to say about it.

The tube in his throat is forcing his lungs to inflate (and helping to push out the blood and the air that’s become trapped in his chest cavity), so Matt isn’t worried about his breathing, but he  _needs_ Coran to get that blood into Keith’s veins before there’s any permanent damage. “Keep _going_!” he growls at the people around him, who have frozen in shock. Coran springs back into action, hooking Keith up to an IV and attaching the bag of blood to a curved metal pole by the head of the table. 

He can see Lance brushing Keith’s hair from his closed eyes, whispering something in his ear, but he can’t make anything out over the screeching of the holoscreen demanding their friend is, technically, dead, and Coran barking orders to Allura and Shiro.

No matter how many times he stops and presses his ear to Keith’s chest, he’s met with silence. This time, he can’t get his heart to keep beating on its own, so he’s stuck here on this table, muttering nonsense to Keith about staying alive just a _little bit longer_ while Lance starts sobbing anew.

When he finally takes a moment to sit back and _breathe_ , Hunk and Pidge are hovering uncertainly in the doorway, despite the fact that he specifically told them _not_ to come in here. He presses his mouth into a thin line and shakes his head at them. Hunk weeps against the top of Pidge’s head.

“Lotor,” she rasps around the lump in her throat. “He’s…”

“Keep an eye on him,” Shiro demands, inspecting the holoscreen for signs of any more shrapnel that needs to be removed.

Coran shakes his head, not looking up from where he’s begun to work the sleep chamber suit up Keith’s legs. “Go deal with it. Matthew, do  _not_ stop. I’m almost done here.”

Shiro hesitates for a moment, like Keith will disappear if he lets him out of his sight (in all likelihood, he will), but the need for a diplomatic intervention outweighs his need to hold vigil over Keith. There’s nothing left to be done here. He herds Hunk and Pidge back outside on his way past, insisting they need to go relax.

Matt can hear Pidge yelling at him the whole way down the hall.

“Lance,” he says sharply, and the paladin looks up at him, eyes shining and unfocused. “Get in a pod. That was _way_ too much blood.”

Even as he says that, Coran is switching to the  _fourth_ bag of blood and it’s still only his very own hands keeping Keith alive, and maybe it wasn’t _enough._ A tremor wracks his body and he puts his ear to Keith’s chest, swearing loudly when only the sound of air being forced into his lungs greets him.

“No,” Lance replies, notably dazed, hands twitching. “Not until he is.”

“You’re going to pass out, Lance. Get in the _damn pod, now._ ”

“ _No_.” There’s venom in Lance’s voice. Matt has never heard him angry, not really, and he’s too busy performing chest compression to really do anything about the boy’s defiance. “I need to make sure he’s okay.”

Keith _isn’t fucking okay_ , Matt wants to scream at him, but Lance’s voice is fading as quickly as the colour from his skin, and in spite of that he continues to run his fingers gently through Keith’s hair as he rests their heads together -- Matt _can't_ separate them, not like this, not when this might be their last opportunity to just  _be_ with each other (regardless of whether Keith is conscious or not).

Finally, the rest of the fluid drains from Keith’s chest and Matt has to maneuver himself around where Coran and Allura work the suit up the rest of Keith’s body, not ceasing the compressions for a second out of fear. It grips his shoulders tight, forces his upper body to continue working through the knowledge that they’re probably too late, they’ve lost him by now, the sleep chamber can’t do _jack shit_ for him anymore.

Allura eases the tube out of his mouth and Lance mumbles his discontent as Keith is lifted out from beneath his hands. In the few seconds it takes for Allura to carry him to the nearest sleep chamber, several patches of red have begun to soak through the front of his suit -- Lance’s blood, mostly.

Matt puts Lance’s hands on his shoulders, holding him upright while he assists him in changing into his own suit, and Lance can barely keep his eyes open as he slurs, “Is he okay?” like a broken record, looking unconvinced no matter how many times Matt assures him that, _yes_ , Keith is alright, he’s healing now, j _ust focus on getting your arms into the sleeves._

As Matt zips the suit up, Coran holds a cup of foul-smelling clear liquid to Lance’s lips. “Drink this,” he says, sounding only minutely less grim than he was several minutes ago, though it’s obvious he’s _trying_ not to let it show. “It will speed up the process.”

Lance barely has the presence of mind to make a face at the taste, then Matt and Allura are dragging him by the arms into a pod and then--

It’s quiet.

The holoscreen stopped howling at them at some point, but Matt didn’t notice over the blood rushing in his ears. Coran is fiddling silently with the sleep chamber they’ve placed Keith in, brows drawn as he reviews the stats it’s giving him.

Matt doesn’t even have to ask. It’s like Coran can read his mind.

“It … _might_ work.”

“It _has to_ ,” Matt counters, wrapping his shivering arms around himself. He might be in shock, too. He doesn’t know. It might be the rapidly cooling blood soaking through his clothes. It might be the cold, sterile air of the med bay. “He _can’t_ die, Coran, they’d be _destroyed._ ”

“The sleep chambers were never meant to work miracles,” is all Coran says as he shuffles out of the med bay, peeling off his gloves and tossing them into a trash chute.

Allura’s hand on his shoulder is warm compared to the ice in his veins. “It will have to work a miracle, this time,” she assures, even though her smile is forced.

  
  


Lotor’s calculating gaze lands on them as they shuffle into the control room. He’s standing in the middle of the room with Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge positioned like a guard around him, distrust in their stances.

He takes in the blood soaking their clothes and the resignation on their faces, and a small, soft, “Oh,” leaves him, drawing everyone’s gaze. 

“I’m sorry for your--” Lotor begins, and Matt cuts him off, ice-cold anger shooting through him.

“He’s _not dead_. He’ll be _fine._ ”

“Where’s Lance?” Hunk asks, peering through the doorway behind them.

Matt sighs.

“We put him in a pod, as well. We took a lot of blood for Keith and that was the fastest way to heal him,” Allura explains.

“Go get yourselves cleaned up,” Shiro says quietly to them, and Allura shakes her head, eyes still on Lotor, but Matt sighs and shuffles back out of the room and towards the communal showers.

 

*

 

Lance stumbles around stupidly for a second after the pod opens and he tips out into open air. Fortunately, before his legs give out on him, a pair of hands grab his upper arms and hold him steady.

“Shiro,” he breathes, blinking dazedly up at his team leader when he recognizes the tuft of white hair on black and the metal arm supporting him. Ah, sleep chamber, yes. Sleep chamber legs? Yup. Why was he in there again?

Blood for something.

… _Shit._

“Keith!” he squeaks, shoving Shiro’s hands away so he can turn and see his friend. “Is he okay? What happened?”

Shiro’s silence is stifling. Lance shuffles up closer to the pod beside his and rests a hand on the cold glass, gazing up at Keith’s blue-tinted face. There are bloodstains on the white suit.

“He’ll be alright,” Shiro says finally, almost uncertainly, and Lance sifts through his muddled brain to remember exactly what happened before he was put in the pod.

“Did he die?”

Shiro starts, looking off to the side at an apparently very interesting expanse of blank wall. “His … his heart stopped, yes. But Coran says he’s been healing alright, just more slowly than he’d like.”

“How long has it been?”

“Just over two days.”

Yikes. He hasn’t been in a sleep chamber for that long before. “That seems like it’s too much time.”

“Yes, well, evidently it takes much longer for the pods to help replenish fluids than to heal a wound.”

Intensely focused on the shallow rise and fall of Keith’s chest, Lance barely notices when Shiro moves to stand by his side. “He needs to be okay,” he whispers, almost to himself.

Shiro’s hand moves to rest near his own, then falls away as he sighs and turns to look at him. “Lance, we need to talk about this.”

“About what?” He doesn’t bother to spare Shiro a glance, just takes in the details of Keith’s face -- the dark bags under his eyes, the fading bruises marring his cheek and forehead, the remnants of healing cuts and scrapes, long eyelashes lying still against his cheekbones. He _needs_ to pull through. Lance has so much to say to him. His rival, turned teammate, turned friend. 

He needs to tell Keith how important he is. 

“About your feelings for Keith.”

Lance nearly jumps out of his skin, face paling rapidly as he whips around to face Shiro, then flushing a deep red at the soft look of understanding he’s receiving. There’s something more there, though, something desperately sad.

“And about him trying to kill himself.”

“Wh--” Lance is going to get whiplash, he thinks. His whole thought process just pulled a U-turn. “He didn’t…” He _did_. God, Lance is so stupid. They’re all so stupid. 

Of course that is how this would all culminate. Had they thought that letting Keith go off on his own, isolating himself, teaming up with a bunch of crazy aliens who think that self-sacrifice is the greatest honour, wouldn’t result in exactly what it did? An outright suicide attempt? 

Keith didn’t  _just_ try to protect them. He tried to _kill himself_ to protect them, and that’s worse -- so much worse. He almost _succeeded_. 

And no person who was content with their life would try to pull a stunt like that, no matter the cost.

“Lance?”

Oh, he’s crying. He didn’t mean to cry. He quickly scrubs the tears away with the sleeve of the white suit he’s wearing and gives a perplexed laugh. “He wouldn’t … he knows we love him, right?”

Shiro grimaces, then gestures to where Lance’s clothes are waiting on a table by the door, neatly folded. A pile of Keith’s clothes lays beside them. He doesn’t say anything.

“Shiro,” Lance starts warningly, crossing his arms.

Shiro relents. He heaves a sigh so weary that Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he was carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. “I don’t think so.”

And he would know best, wouldn’t he? Lance sighs, too, uncrossing his arms and trudging over to the table to retrieve his clothes. He immediately strips out of the sleep chamber suit, far past the point of caring about his once-idol seeing him in his boxers, and tugs on his jeans and t-shirt. “Are we bad friends?” He asks as he settles his jacket over his shoulders, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence or the pressure of the question any longer. “I mean, I thought we’d made it obvious that we love him, and we care about him, and he’s a valuable part of the team, and…” The tips of his ears turn pink. “And, y’know, I guess it’s pretty obvious how I feel, specifically. So how did we mess this up?”

“It’s not us,” Shiro assures. He sits on the steps leading up to the sleep chambers and gestures for Lance to sit beside him. He complies immediately, kicking his legs out straight in front of him and leaning back on his hands. “It isn’t exactly my place to tell, but I feel that it’s important to know.”

“Know what?” Now he  _really_ has Lance’s attention; he stares up unwaveringly at Shiro, who appears contemplative, it not hesitant.

“Keith … needs a lot more reassurance that he is accepted. It’s difficult to get him to a point where he feels comfortable and cared for, and extremely easy to ruin that sense of acceptance once it’s established. And while I believe that may have been our fault for not being more careful or patient with him, it most certainly isn’t our fault that he doesn’t believe he’s loved, or perhaps just hasn’t realized it.”

“Then whose fault is it!?” Lance snaps. “‘Cause apparently we did a pretty bad job of establishing that!”

“Honestly? Almost everyone else who was involved in his life is at fault. Myself included. But the rest of you, you’ve done your best to show him that you accept him and you care about him.” He rests a careful hand on Lance’s shoulder and Lance looks back up at him to see his eyes shining with tears. “And that’s what’s most important. That you _try_. Not that all of the foster families he was with were horrible monsters, but people don’t really develop attachments to children that they know won’t be around for long.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Lance tries to laugh again, but all that comes out is a weak, wheezing breath as he wipes newly-forming tears from his eyes. “Is that people didn’t tell Keith they loved him? And they didn’t even love him in the first place because they weren’t supposed to?”

Shiro nods solemnly, and Lance just lets the tears fall. He can’t even _imagine_ not experiencing real love in his life, not having someone around who he knows loves him unconditionally, someone who will hug him when he’s upset and teach him how to be kind and make all the bad things in the world go away. The very _idea_ of it makes his heart ache. Facing life without the support of knowing someone who loves you will always be there is a terrifying concept.

“His father passed away when he was very young, and he went through a  _lot_ of foster homes. I’m sure it’s hard to feel loved when you only live with the same people for a couple weeks or months. It’s my fault, too, for not realizing sooner that he really just doesn’t understand that someone _can_ love him.”

“But you do?”

“Hm?”

“Love him,” Lance clarifies, and Shiro offers him the most gentle, reassuring smile he thinks he’s ever seen.

“Like a brother.” Lance’s shoulders relax as he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “My family was planning on adopting him, but then my father got sick and everything just got in the way. What I wouldn’t give to go back and change that.”

“How do I make sure he knows?” Lance asks, sniffling, as he tries to stop himself crying again. “That I do love him? And I do care about him?”

Shiro’s eyes are so warm as he wraps Lance in a gentle hug, allowing him to cry on his shoulder. “Like I said, trying is the most important thing you can do. It might be as easy as just telling him.”

 

*

 

The sound of the sleep chamber opening nearby interrupts his dream, but it's a few moments before Lance remembers where he is -- the freezing, uncomfortable floor of the med bay digging into his hip, arm numb where it's tucked under his torso. Then the  _why_ returns to him, and the realization of precisely what sound has awoken him.

“Keith,” he gasps, and he looks up just in time to see the doors to the med bay open as Shiro runs in, the rest of team Voltron close on his heels, and Keith swaying precariously above him. He launches himself to his feet and catches Keith around the waist, wrapping his arms tightly around him and squeezing, like he can convey everything he wants to say through the gesture. 

They are immediately buried under a pile of teammates, all warmth and elbows and relieved laughter. 

“Keith, oh my god,” Lance whispers, cheek pressed against Keith’s and breath ghosting over his ear. Keith shivers and makes a noise of confusion.

“Did I die?” he rasps, eyes unfocused as Hunk’s arms wrap around both of them.

Lance can’t stop himself sobbing. “Oh my god,” he repeats. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever scare us like that again. Do you hear me?”

“Wha-- why?” Keith’s cold fingers curl into the front of Lance’s jacket as they struggle to maintain their balance under the weight of their entire team. 

Lance’s voice drops even lower, despite the fact that their team is being so loud with their chattering and their questions and their  _relief_ that it’s near impossible for anyone to hear him. His hand slides up to rest against the back of Keith’s head and pull him closer. “You’re so much more important than you realize.”

Keith rests his ear over Lance’s heart, lets the tears fall while Lance sways back and forth as well as he can, rubbing soothing circles on his back. He presses a kiss to the crown of his head and Keith grips on tighter.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re okay -- that’s what matters.”

 

Shiro manages to shoo everyone out of the room at a perfect moment of limbo; just when Keith has stopped crying and just before Allura starts lecturing him on appropriate risks and idiotic plans.

As soon as they’re alone, Lance turns back to Keith, who's curled in on himself, arms gripping tight around his torso like he's trying to hold himself together. His eyes are downcast, darks bags under them only emphasizing the weariness in his gaze. He drags Keith into an embrace again, heart thumping in his chest. “Tell me what happened.”

Keith’s head reels back and he stares up at Lance, wide-eyed, for several long seconds. “What do you--?”

“Why did you crash your ship into that barrier? That was suicide, Keith, and you know it.”

He must’ve chosen his words wrong, because Keith’s face crumples and fresh tears shine in his eyes. He shakes his head vigorously. “I didn’t … I couldn’t…” Keith ducks his head and scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t let you get hurt,” he croaks. “I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t live with myself if any of you--” He cuts himself off to take a few deep breaths, one hand gripping Lance’s shoulder for support.

“I’d rather it be me than any of you. You’d be fine without me, you _have been_ fine without me, but I _can’t_ live knowing any of you were hurt, or killed, and I could have done something to prevent it.”

Lance grinds his teeth together and exhales heavily, moving to hold Keith’s face between his hands. The residual cold of the sleep chamber still clings to his skin, and his thumbs rub slowly over Keith’s cheeks in an attempt to restore warmth. “We wouldn’t,” he growls, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“What?”

“We  _wouldn't_ be fine without you.” He glares down at Keith, who blinks at him in confusion. “The past couple days have been _hell_. The past couple  _months_ have been hell without you around. I _missed_ you. We all did. And seeing you the way you were when Matt dragged you in here? I think it scarred _everyone_.”

“I don’t--” Keith’s free hand comes up to clamp around his wrist, neither pulling him away nor holding him in place, just _there._ He looks like a deer in the headlights. 

The blend of concern and anger in Lance’s chest swells. He  _needs_ Keith to understand this. “We _care_ , Keith. We care about you, and we _love_ you, and we can’t stand to see you hurting. _You’re important to us_ ,” he reiterates, as he wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders and draws him in again. “You’re _so_ important. You’re family. And that means you  _can't_ just put yourself in harm’s way all the time -- because it won’t just be _yourself_ you’re hurting. Got it?”

“I’m not…” Keith is by no means a pretty crier. In fact, crying doesn’t suit him at all. But it breaks Lance’s heart all the same. “I shouldn’t be. I’m not … _good enough_ for that, Lance. I don’t know how to be--” He sniffles loudly and curls downwards against Lance.

Lance shushes him and runs shaking fingers through his hair, blinking away his own tears. “You are. You’re good enough. You’re  _beyond_ good enough, Keith. Just let us take care of you, okay?” 

After a long silence, Keith nods and tries to steady his breathing, and Lance presses another quick kiss to the side of his head, praying he’s being subtle enough. 

“Okay. Step one is talk to Coran about your, uh, current mental state. He might be able to help. Is that alright?” he asks softly, like Keith will shy away from the question. He very well might.

But instead, he takes another deep, slow breath and nods again. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

“Great!” Lance gives him one last squeeze and steps back, hands still hovering close until he’s sure Keith is okay to stand on his own. His back and hips protest the movement when he bends down to pick up his blanket and pillow from beside the pod. “Ugh,” he groans. “And about you not only hurting yourself, you  _so_ owe me a massage, Samurai.”

Keith looks momentarily shocked, then confused, before a grin breaks out on his face and he _laughs_ , albeit quietly. “That’s a fair deal, Sharpshooter,” he responds, somewhat sheepish.

Lance can’t even hide his own smile as he loops an arm over Keith’s shoulder and they set off to find Coran together.


End file.
